The Burden Of Proof
by StatickMagick
Summary: REVISED VERSION. Gene's emotions overpower him when the tables are turned and he is kicked in by a nonce. An unexpected nonce. Rated T for language. Will eventually become SamGene. R&R!
1. The End

_**The Burden Of Proof**_

_For the first time in his life, Gene's emotions had taken him over. Striking negative emotions that made him want to turn the tables from kicking in a nonce to kicking himself in._

_For the first time in his life, Gene had no strength to kick in a nonce, because it was only a mere hour ago that a certain nonce kicked him in instead._

_For the first time in his life, Gene had evidence against a suspect, proof that they did what he said they did. But he was too scared to bring them to justice in fear of being kicked in by said nonce a third time._

Gene paced into A-Division, breathing heavily, preparing to face the music of his colleagues wondering what happened to his face. He would normally parade his war wounds, but this was different. This time, Gene hadn't won the battle. The gouge in his left cheek was a defeat wound. The office sounded dead, the absence of the ever-present chatter made Gene feel out of his element. The whole of CID was waiting for Gene.

He hung his head as he eased the doors open, no strength to swing them until they almost fell off their hinges as usual. This was definitely not the normal DCI Gene Hunt. He scanned the shabby green flooring as he paced until his feet collided with familiar black leather shoes. The smell of unhealthy cleanliness marked the presence of DI Sam Tyler, the only person this side of Manchester who could cross Gene and not be scared shitless or served a fist sandwich.

Gene had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. He slowly raised his weary head for his eyes to meet with Sam's. He lifted his hand with all the strength he could muster, causing Sam to flinch in fear of what his hung-over Guv had in store. But instead, he formed his hand into a pathetic form of a beckon towards him. Sam understood and stepped forward.

"You alright, Guv? You want me to fetch you some nurofen… er, some Lucozade?"

"Ooh, 'ark at bleedin' Ghandi over 'ere, never accepts help when he needs it the most, but offers it when there's nout wrong wi' me. You're a hard book to read, Tyler. Bit like the Bible. Never quite finished that. Genesis bored the crap outta me," Gene looked around at the gormless coppers watching Gene's every move, and they all chortled together at Gene's witty sarcasm. Back to normal then.

"Guv, if you're quite finished with the sarcasm, perhaps we should get onto the fact that you're not supposed to be here," Sam pressed.

"Look 'ere, Sammy-boy, I need to be here as much as Cartwright needs to get her kit off," Gene gestured towards her with a wink and receiving a disapproving frown from both Annie and Sam in return.

"Guv, you look peaky, and the hospital gave you at least two weeks leave from work. I've never seen anybody so keen to return to us wasters."

"And I've never seen one of said wasters arguing with their DCI without getting a full-blown smack in the gob, but there's a first time for everything," Gene stepped into Sam and lowered his voice, "everyone here knows you're a nut job, Sam, but given time, I might come to agree, now, in order to prevent said event, I propose we get down the boozer. Call it a 'Welcome Back Guv' drink, and you're paying, Gladys," with that, Gene grabbed Sam's leather-clad sleeve and ushered him through the double doors of the office.


	2. The Drinks

**Chapter 2**

Over three large whiskeys each, Gene and Sam's conversation had run dry, until the third round of glasses were left empty, at which point they both stared into the void of the bottom of their glasses, Nelson stood behind the bar observing in bewilderment.

"They don't fill 'emselves back up y'know," Nelson laughed. With that, they both looked up at him sarcastically, then back down to their glasses, until he snatched them away and refilled them, Gene and Sam's eyes refusing to leave the glasses until they sat back down on the counter next to them.

"So, you gonna tell me who did all this to you?" Sam spoke to his glass, yet addressed Gene.

"Being my DI, you should've used your magical Hyde skills to figure that out by now."

"Well, erm, you weren't in here that night, so that cancels out Ray," Gene answered with an affirmative grumble echoed through his glass, "And, er, Chris cancels himself out," another mumble, "Phyllis said you weren't in the building either, so that rules out late-night file sorting—

"You give up yet, PC Plod?" Gene scratched his cheek, then winced in pain as he remembered the wound.

"The only thing I don't understand is, if anybody were to do this to you, you would've done twice the amount of damage back to 'em," Gene looked at Sam from underneath his creased forehead, "and there's been no murder reports since. So the person who did this, somehow immobilised you, didn't allow you to fight back, but I haven't got a clue as to how that's physically possible, given your record, Guv."

"Getting warmer, Sam, don't lose that train of thought," Gene swigged the last of his drink and set his glass down firmly, then, noticing Sam's had gone untouched, yanked his glass forward and downed his as well.

"Well, I dunno. Phyllis? Annie? Warren?" Sam's eyes wandered to the window and discovered it was pitch-black night outside, "bleedin' heck exactly how long've we been in here? You're missus'll go ballistic if you don't scarper off home," Sam shuffled to his feet, but Gene dragged him back down by his collar.

"Sam, given the circumstances, it's highly likely she doesn't give a flying Scotsman where I am and what I do, after all she did," Gene rubbed his split lip, hinting to Sam.

"Hold up, so you're saying your wife did all this?"

"Gold star, Tyler," Gene croaked, hanging his head.

"My god, Gene, I'm so sorry," The familiarity from 'Guv' to 'Gene' confused Sam, but it didn't matter. He raised his arms and gestured for a hug, but realising Gene wasn't looking up and didn't notice this, he closed in on him and embraced him where he sat. Gene's hands fumbled around through the mass of leather clinging to him to find Sam's back, returning the hug.


	3. The Scars

**Chapter 3**

Sam's bleary eyes awoke slowly to the bitter sunlight pouring through the blinds of his otherwise dingy flat. Scanning the room through squinting eyes, he caught sight of Gene, curled up in the armchair, with his head lolled on the arm, watching him.

"You sleep alright?" Gene's familiar gruff voice questioned.

"Sort of. What about you? Hold on, how did we get here in the first place?" Sam leant on his elbow, wiping his half-asleep eyes.

Gene huffed and prepared to tell the story, "you were too sloshed to remember, and bringing my pissed DI back to his pokey little flat weren't easy, so for my troubles and considering I had nowhere else to go, I invited myself to stay the night." Gene grinned sarcastically. Sam giggled under his breath. Typical Gene. Not that he minded, of course, better than passed out on the floor of the Railway Arms.

"You had anything to eat?" Sam asked.

"Nah, ain't that rude, don't go sifting through another man's fridge. Apart from his dirty mags, that's a man's dignity."

Throwing the bedclothes aside, Sam mumbled, "want me to make you a fry-up?"

"Couldn't turn it down if I tried. Always wondered how Delia you were in the kitchen." Gene sat up straight for a second, uncurling his legs from underneath him, then slumped and hung his head back.

As Sam made his way into the kitchen area of the flat, he yawned loudly.

"Make us a cuppa too, will you Sammy-boy?" Gene hollered over, and Sam nodded in reply.

Minutes later, Sam returned with two plates of food and a mug. He placed one plate onto his bed for himself, then hovered the other two above Gene, waiting for him to take them. But Gene hesitated for some reason. He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt before reaching out for them, but Sam had yanked them back.

"What's wrong with your arms?"

"Er, nothing, just a bit cold that's all."

"Cold? It's like the equator in here," Sam replied, then handing the plate and mug over, which Gene took off him. He then placed the mug on the floor while he tucked into the egg and bacon.

"Thanks," came the suppressed reply. Sam returned to sit on his bed, watching Gene suspiciously, watching his sleeves, puzzled.

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with your arms?"

"I'm sure, now are you gonna shut up let me eat your gourmet dish or do I have to tape your gob and cuff you to the bed?" Gene growled.

_Wouldn't be a bad idea,_ Sam thought to himself.

"Oh for fucks sake, if you must know…" Gene set the plate down on the floor and rolled his sleeves up, showing them to Sam. All along his wrists were cuts. Deep cuts. Some bleeding, some plastered over, some scars.

"Gene, why on earth would you do that to yourself?" Sam dropped his food and went over to check Gene's wounds, but Gene snatched his arms away.

"Because, my missus was everything I had besides my job. I'm nothing wi'out her."

"But I'm here, Gene, I'm here for you, I'll always be here for you," Sam came closer and held Gene's hand reassuringly.

"I'll tell you something, Sammy-boy, you're a daft bender, but I like it."


	4. The Return

The Burden Of Proof – Chapter 4

Stomping into the station gallantly, Gene was closely followed by Sam entering the office. Sam scuffled slowly behind Gene, avoiding the other officer's glances as they attracted everyone's attention. Gene stooped over to the nearest desk and leant back on it, crossing his arms and exhaling heavily.

"You alright, Guv? Have a good night?" Ray questioned while he sat on a wooden chair at the desk beside him.

"Yeah not too bad Raymondo, this wonderful DI here kindly offered me his armchair for the night," Gene slapped Sam's leather-clad shoulder and beamed. First time Sam had seen him smile through the bruises in weeks.

"If I was conscious, I would've lent you the bed," he murmured under his breath.

"What was that, Sammy-boy?" Gene questioned.

"Oh, er, nothing, Guv, glad to be of assistance."

Sam jumped when the beige telephone on a nearby desk began to ring. He glanced at everyone else in the office, but as usual they were lighting up cigarettes, reading dirty magazines and various other activities to busy themselves. After five more painfully repetitive rings, Sam grabbed the receiver and held it to his ear.

"Er, DI Sam Tyler," he stated.

"Oh, pardon me, could I speak to your DCI please?" came a sullen female reply. Sam was taken aback, for once the call wasn't from the doctors in the future. This time he wasn't imagining the call.  
"Yeah, sure," he took the phone from his ear and called over to Gene, "Guv, it's for you."

Gene dropped his newly-lit cigarette, squished it into the ground with his off-white loafers, and headed towards Sam, taking the receiver from his outstretched hand and returning a discreet wink and a smile.

"DCI Gene Hunt 'ere," Gene's gruff voice spoke. Sam stepped back to allow Gene his space, still hearing faint mumbles from the handset.

"Mhm, right… okay… thanks, bye," Gene hung up the phone and stared down at his shoes. "Sam, go open the car for us," his now suppressed voice asked, fumbling in his jacket pocket retrieving a car key and handing it gently to Sam instead of throwing it as usual.

"Is everything alright, Guv?" Sam stepped closer and spoke quieter, more intimately to Gene.

"It appears Mrs Hunt's gone missing. Last seen on Satchmore Road last night."

A tidal wave of guilt and panic crashed through Sam in an instant.

The same road Maya went missing from.

"Forget it Guv, she kicked you out, let the bugger go missing," Ray chuckled as he grinded his jaw.

Sam rested his hand on Gene's tan-coloured jacket sleeve in sympathy.

"I'll move heaven and earth to help you get through this—

"Just get the bloody car open will you?!"


End file.
